


On Horseback coming out of Lagras

by cinderadler



Series: In the Woods, Somewhere [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Bad Jokes, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Memories, Surprise Kissing, Touch-Starved, Touching, Unresolved Sexual Tension, morston, shared ride
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:42:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26054401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderadler/pseuds/cinderadler
Summary: Arthur and John share a ride back to camp, for old time's sake. But John's got his horse stolen... Arthur can hardly just let him walk, can he?
Relationships: Implied John/Abigail, John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Series: In the Woods, Somewhere [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1894354
Kudos: 64





	On Horseback coming out of Lagras

“Well, that’s that cat in the bag.” Arthur remarks, nodding at his companion. “Not a bad take, but we’ve left a bit of a...uh, scene.”

“Not bad for a two-man massacre.” John grins from the other side of the now-wrecked room. He walks around the bodies of the strewn about the place, sifting through the pockets of the dead while Arthur gathers handfuls of bundled notes from out of the chimney. “We could try and shift some of the bodies?” John suggests.

“Nah, I don’t think we’ve got the time. Lagras law ain’t too shabby at catching us up. Besides - you think any of them would do that for us?”

“Heh, you’re probably right.” Arthur stands up and admires the slimmer figure in front of him for a moment. John’s aged well, Arthur thinks, he’s shining up like a bad penny though. He seems to get a new scratch or scrape every week, his face is so knocked up after that wolf had a go at him. Fancied a taste, Arthur assumes, and mulling on that thought he can’t blame the animal. He’s a sweet man, he’s got sweet skin. They’ve shared enough that Arthur knows that to be true. Under cover of darkness, blessed by the moonlight or a campfire, out the wilds; they’ve found each other as solace in the cold. It’s something quiet that they share when they’re not shouting, guns blazing, caught up in the fire of it all. When there’s peace, it is theirs between them. Maybe Abigail suspects, maybe she doesn’t. Arthur’s never had the decency to ask, but John’s never had the soul to say anything. Idly, looking Marston up and down, Arthur wonders if Abigail thinks John’s skin is sweet.

“You’re right.” John waves his hand at Arthur, gesturing he stand. The pair walk out of the broken front door side-by-side. “We’d better go... let’s knock some boots, get up out of here.” John croons, following in tow of Arthur’s muddied footsteps.

“You can walk. It was your fool idea to lose your damn horse to that young nobody that ran.”

“I wouldn’t call it my ‘idea’, I’d say it was my bad luck. He could’a pinched your girl.”

“He’d’ve gotten a bullet for trying. You’re just getting slow.”

“Yeah?” John shrugs off Arthur’s meaningless affront. “Well now I’m getting cosy too.” He holsters his pistols and climbs onto the back of Arthur’s horse. “Shift up, cowboy.” John jostles Arthur, pressing a hand to the middle of the older man’s back and nudging him forwards. “Come on, now; don’t be shy. We’ve gotta shake some tail.” John nestles his hips forwards, leaning into the warmth of Arthur’s back.

“Take a guy to dinner first, would ya’?” Arthur teases him, swinging half-down to sweep up his rifle from the silt-covered ground.

“Don’t bother with them formalities, get going!” John laughs as he speaks, adjusting his jacket sleeves from folded down to rolled up to the elbow.

“Fine.” Arthur laments with a huff, but the lightness in his voice betrays his heart. “Hold on tight, she’s a kicker.” He mentions, like he’ll be the one at risk though firmly in the saddle. “Hyah!” Arthur calls out, shaking his head and kicking his heels against his horse. He shakes her reins while trying to shift his weight forwards to give John some room. Marston’s weight behind him makes this an easy ride, if a slow one. His horse isn’t as happy as he is to feel Marston’s body on him.

“Talk about knocking boots; could you get your damn feet outta’ my way please?” Arthur barks with softness, turning his head to catch John’s eye. John swats at him and he swats back without looking now. He keeps his eyes focussed on the path ahead as he talks to John, behind him. He can feel John’s left hand crawling beneath his gun belt. Though he dutifully lifts his knees and moves his feet out of Morgan’s way the best he can.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I know no such thing, pretty boy.” Arthur smooths his horse’s mane as they ride, calming her.

“It’s not always about that-don’t think that I just want _that_ with you.” John tries to apologise, on the backfoot, moving his hand back from Arthur’s cocix.

“Marston-put your hand back.” Arthur tells him and John obliges, feeling a smile prick up the corners of his mouth. “I don’t want you falling off and doing yourself any more damage on my watch. I ain’t got the energy to be listening to Dutch and Abigail lecturing me on your smashed up bones.”

“I wear them well though, you’ve gotta admit, Arthur.” John chuckles an exhale.

“I never said you didn’t.” John can hear the smile in Arthur’s words. “But I’m taking special care of your idiot ass. Call it an investment in my long-term wellbeing.” Arthur calls his horse to a slow trot, allowing him to turn his upper body around to face John almost completely. “So, put your hand back.” It’s an order uttered under his breath.

John looks him in the eye for a lingering moment.

“You know, it’s good seeing you again.” John says, reaching for Arthur’s waist this time. “It’s been a while.” He murmurs.

“It’s been bliss without you.”

“Shh!” John urges his partner suddenly, pressing Arthur to instinctively reach for his sidearm, cocking it back. “Ya’ hear that?”

“What?” Arthur’s recall is urgent as he looks around them, spying between trees and large, vine-covered ruins.

“The sound of my heart breaking.” Arthur almost butts Marston with the back of his revolver in frustration.

“You fuck---” He raises his hands up as a gesture of futility. “Don’t do that to me! I thought you was being serious, you clown.” John doesn’t take in any of this criticism through his bellowing laughter. Arthur slaps John’s chest with the back of his hand causing John to almost fall off the back of his horse. Fortunately, Arthur reacts and fumbles for Marston’s jacket, grabbing it and pulling towards himself as best he can. The lurch of the pull knocks some of the air out of John’s laughter, drawing him to a silence after a moment.

“That was a bit much of me. I forget, you’re getting old now. I can’t do that to your frail heart.” John quips.

“Old? You son of a bitch, I’m 36.”

“Oh you’ve said it! Now I feel ancient too!”

“Ancient?” Arthur mocks him, releasing his fist from John’s jacket and turning to face the path ahead again, geeing his horse to ride gently. “Ancient at 26. What a sight.”

“I’m 27 next month, I’m catching you up.”

“Oh, you don’t need to tell me, I spied some grey hairs on you just then.” Arthur jokes.

“Yeah, well, least I can still get hard.” John jokes back. “If I said ‘Stick ‘em up, cowboy’ I bet you just turn to stone!” He moves from whispering in Arthur’s ear to cackling in it. Arthur flinches at the sharpness of Marston’s raw joy.

“If I had the inclination I’d make you eat those words, Marston.” Arthur tuts, shifting his weight back a little to lean into John’s middle.

“They could be dinner?” John flirts with the idea as he suggests it.

“Some other time, maybe.” Arthur lets out after a thoughtful pause set to the sound of his horse’s hammering hooves. John thinks on it for a following moment, not offended but simply considering the past between the pair.

“Some other time.” He agrees and then speaks with a more subdued tone. “It is good seeing you again.”

“And you too.” Arthur’s reply is honest, John can hear that much. “I never thought I’d miss that beat up face of yours.” He flicks the reins and then lets one hand go to feels for John’s fingers around his waist. It’s a light, fluid movement like a feather brushing with fingers. He’s just curious if he remembers John’s knuckles and palms. “Remind me to add the new scars next time I draw you in my journal.” He traces one across the back of John’s hand.

“What I wouldn’t give to read that damned book.” John admits, curling his fingers around the gun belt and pulling back towards his thighs.

“Maybe, when you’re older.” Arthur mocks him.

“I mean it. I wanna know what’s going on in that head of yours.”

“All’a these thoughts, they’ve all gotta’ be about you, right?”

“Yeah – all two of your thoughts.” John replies, creeping his waist-hand around the front of Arthur’s jeans, tucking his fingers into the pocket as he talks.

“Oh yeah – you’re irresistible.” Arthur murmurs as he takes John’s hand from out of his pocket and slips it under his waistband. He swaps hands on the reins then and reaches his right hand around and feels for John’s jeans button before hooking his fingers under John’s waistband. John lets him, unsure whether he should move his hand any further while Arthur is riding. He doesn’t, appreciating the warmth for what it is and reminding himself of the softness of Arthur’s stomach. “I can’t keep my hands off you.” Arthur ties his movements off with an indulgent irony which John rolls his eyes at.

They ride for a short while longer before coming up onto the outskirts of camp. The thicket of winding trees surrounding Horseshoe Overlook is the kind of land that, if it were bigger, you could get lost in it for days.

“S’Not far now.” Arthur mumbles, breaking the peace that had befallen them.

“Slow her’ up, I’ll walk from here.”

“Why?” Arthur asks while slowing his horse.

“Don’t wanna rub the shine off that hardass reputation, Morgan, now do I?” John slides his fingers out of Arthur’s jeans and presses that hand up his chest, bringing their bodies together in something like a hug but sandwiching Arthur’s hand between their hips. John luxuriates in the feeling for a moment, even repositioning his hips. “Can’t have everyone knowing you took pity on little me, gave me a ride all the way back because my horse got robbed. What would they say?” John’s voice is low and rich on the back of Arthur’s neck.

“I need those fingers, you know; you can’t keep ‘em.” Arthur murmurs as he leans into John’s backwards embrace.

“Hardass.” Arthur can feel John’s laughter vibrating through his ribs. Arthur laughs with him for a brief moment before John hops down from the back of the stilled horse and walks up to run his hands through her mane. He looks up at Arthur with a relaxed ease that comes naturally to them both, in doing so he smiles.

“You’ve got something—” John mumbles and reaches out to flick his fingertips across Arthur’s collar.

“Where? What---" Arthur tries to tip his head down to see what John’s gesturing to and instead watches John’s fingers digs into the cotton of his collar. He feels himself get pulled towards the younger man with some force. Their lips meet with determination, a sight obscured by the brim of Arthur’s hat that John gently tips down with his fingers after releasing Morgan’s collar. Despite wanting this, Marston has surprised Morgan.

Arthur groans a little, feeling John’s tongue skirt the back of his upper teeth. John smiles wider, pulling away then.

“It was some of the shine.” John smirks, picking up his spare rifle and satchel of stolen goods from Arthur’s saddlebags.

“Sounds like a liar to me, Marston.” Arthur chides from on high, clicking his tongue to stir his horse into movement again. “But find me when you next get a tip about a ‘stead. We could go all night. I’ll ride.”

“Promise I will.” John half-promises.

“Promises, promises.” Arthur mutters with a grin, riding away with haste, watching the lazy-walk of John Marston disappear into the kicked-up dust.

“We’d be so lucky.” John talks to himself as he begins the leisurely walk through the fair stretch of tangled forest leading up to Horseshoe Overlook. He hears Arthur calling out to Lenny, who he assumes is standing guard. He smiles to himself, nurturing the little fire of hope in his stomach that the months of wasteland between him and Morgan were past them now. It was like they’d never been separated by Colter. John was back now, for good, and he planned to make at least one night Arthur’s. For old times, and maybe for the future.


End file.
